Читать книгу Lost in You - Sommer Marsden - Страница 6

‘Why are you here?’ I asked, unable to squash my curiosity. Surely it wasn’t really to do with me. We passed the two longest sections of mall that branched off from the main entrance. They were dark and partly sheathed in plastic and often, when I was alone, brought to mind those horrible slasher movies. I shook the thought off, but caught him looking at me.

‘I had heard from Bradley that all was going really well. That you were running a tight ship and the workers liked you and that you were even getting around to the stained-glass dome. That you’d called in an expert.’

‘Oh, he’s an expert,’ I sighed. ‘And he acts like one. A bit of a prima donna, if you ask me. But he did the Beltway.’

‘I heard.’

Another Baltimore landmark that sported some serious stained glass. It had started to leak over the years and Voorhees had been called in to repair it. It was how I’d heard of him and seen his handiwork.

‘Anyway, he’s sort of … delicate.’ My foot slipped on a stray tail of plastic sheeting and I slid, almost losing my balance. Almost – but for a strong hand that suddenly appeared at my elbow, and another at the small of my back, to steady me.

My heart gave a crazy little fish flop in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was from the fear of falling or from his hands on me. I nodded my thanks and just kept walking, ignoring the burn of blood in my cheeks.

‘Well, you handled him well, from what I heard.’

I smiled. ‘I yelled into the phone and then got pissed.’

Watch your mouth, Clover. Be a lady …

‘That was pissed? I get way more pissed than that.’ He smiled at me in the low light. I felt that smile in my stomach.

‘This way,’ I said. My voice was tight and high. I was nervous. Any fool could hear that. And yet Dorian Martin had done nothing at all to make me nervous. Other than be so … close to me. ‘Some of the men take their smoke breaks down here. I like to make sure it’s not just locked but chained when the day is done.’ I took a small penlight from my pocket and aimed it at the push bars on the double doors. The way the chains were tangled it was unclear. ‘Can’t tell,’ I muttered.

He followed me, silently, down to the darkest end of the hall and let me push the bars to assure myself that all was not just secure but chained. ‘Good,’ I said.

‘You’re very conscientious,’ he said.

‘Is that a bad thing?’ I asked. It was a serious question. I was often told I worried too much. A habit I seemed unable to break.

‘Not for me,’ he said, giving me a soft touch on the back of my arm as we turned in the gloom. Nothing more than a gentlemanly steer with his hand, but it did strange things to me. Made me feel something I couldn’t recall feeling before.

A brief and vivid image of him kissing me right there, pressing me to the cool, beautifully tiled wall of the corridor filled my head and, when I coughed to focus myself, it burst and flitted away like a rainbow-hued soap bubble.

And then: ‘It means you’re looking out for me.’

‘I didn’t even know you,’ I said. I felt stupid for having pointed that out.

We walked back towards the light and he said, ‘You knew of me.’

‘True. Just one more stop and then we can go. But Mr –’

‘Dorian,’ he corrected, looking slightly stern.

‘Right. Dorian, you can go. I really am fine by myself. I’m here all the time. I mean, it’s like I practically live here.’ I laughed. We passed a stretch of tiny eateries. A bistro, a bakery, a gourmet preserves store. I wished they were open – I was starved.

Wind licked at the building so fiercely we heard the huge old structure creak. ‘Let’s finish this so we don’t end up living here,’ he said.

‘Right.’

Just a few more minutes together. We checked the dome to see that all the industrial work lights were off and then looked at the last exit door to make sure it was bolted and secure.

‘Done!’ I said. His eyes were darker in this light, the green less noticeable, his expression unreadable as he studied me again. Had I done something?

‘Good. I’ll walk you back. Make sure you get on the road safely.’

Safe. How long since anyone besides my grandmother had fretted over my safety? To be honest – brutally so – with myself, I couldn’t remember the last time a man had bothered himself with my safety. Of course, in their defence, it had been years since I’d done anything but casual dating. And you cannot expect a man whom you see once every six weeks or so to fret over your safety.

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ My voice did a new and interesting weird thing at the end. I sounded almost like I was about to cry.

Dorian Martin caught it, gave me a quick second glance but then covered with a smile.

Great, not just handsome and kind, but intuitive too. I’d have to remember to keep my big fat mouth shut until I was in my car. Then I could freak out.

* * *

‘I think –’ Outside, the wind ripped my voice away. My skirt was lifted by a stiff blast of wind and the rain suddenly changed direction, dousing me in an instant.

White blouse.

But Dorian didn’t seem to notice because a decorative bench was slowly being blown across the brickwork of the patio. ‘We might have waited too long,’ he yelled.

Another blast of wind and rain and I screamed when more cold water smacked me. I felt like a fool but couldn’t help it.

I had to be positive. This was just a storm. No big deal. Surely the weather people were exaggerating. They had to talk about something, right? ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fi –’

With that, the second biggest oak on the property gave a mighty groan. We’d had rain all week already and the ground was soaked. The wind and added rain had taxed the poor thing to its limits. With another gust and another fierce moan it seemed to surrender and down it went, as if in slow motion.

‘I think we won’t, Clover,’ he shouted, taking my hand.

I’d imagined him doing it, but the reality of his big warm hand curling around mine was extraordinary. Even given the bizarre and frightening circumstances, something in me woke up when he touched me.

And then: ‘Come on, Clover. We need to get inside. Fast.’

I hurried in after him, sliding the last foot or so on the wet tile, my carefully chosen outfit now stuck to me. I dressed to say, ‘I’m in charge,’ I dressed to say, ‘Responsible.’ Now my ensemble just said, ‘Drowned rat.’

The automatic doors slid closed and to add insult to injury the lights flickered and failed. For a few heartbeats there was nothing but total silence.

Then my teeth started to chatter.